A Rare Moment
by chaos-and-paradox
Summary: Safely on the ship, and still reeling from the battle with the Night King, Jon and Daenerys have an intimate moment in which they finally reveal their feelings for each other. Post 7x06, before 7x07. One shot for now, but might be continued in the future.
1. A Rare Moment

**Here is a drabble I wrote this afternoon while I was bored at work, as I have yet to think of anything besides Game of Thrones since this Sunday's episode. This takes place post 7x06, but is not canon for anything after that, as I don't yet know what's coming. I just finished this and figured I'd publish it for those of you who are on board for the JonxDaenerys pairing. It's not heavily edited, so please keep that in mind. I may or may not continue, depending on the response, and what happens on the Season Finale. Enjoy!**

The lull of the ship swaying with the waves woke Jon, and as his faculties returned, he found himself frustrated by his confinement. It wasn't in his nature to rest. His mind was desperate for movement, but his body didn't seem to want to obey. After staring out the window at the sky for what felt like an eternity, he managed to force himself into a sitting position. There was no way he was going to get himself out of bed, but at least sitting up, he didn't feel quite as useless.

His mind wandered back through the past few days, and the reality of what happened hit him all over again. It was an unspeakable tragedy to lose a dragon. During his time at Dragonstone, Jon had developed a respect for the creatures, and even felt affection for them on some level. Though, that may have been in part due to his growing affection for their mother. He didn't spend much time dwelling on that particular thought, though, as the realization hit him that not only had they lost Viserion, in all likelihood, the Night King had risen him, and they would now be faced with a far more deadly enemy. He felt a renewed sense of sorrow for Daenerys, since she had to cope with the loss of her child, but also that she would soon be tasked with fighting, and potentially killing him once more. If Jon's heart hadn't weighed heavy before, the knowledge of fighting a resurrected dragon sobered him, and made him even more desperate to take action. He was about to force himself from the bed out of sheer willpower when the door opened and Ser Davos entered with a tray of food and an amused expression.

"I had a feeling you would be antsy." He commented. The knight chuckled at himself, but his eyes betrayed the sobriety that plagued Jon as well. "You weren't back from the dead five minutes before you were up and at it again. I shouldn't have expected this time would be any different." He set the tray on the bed next to his friend. A bowl of hot soup enticed the king's senses, accompanied by a slab of meat and bread. "Try the soup first, and see how you do. I don't need you blowing chunks of meat because you're not recovered enough to digest it."

Jon nodded, trying to appreciate the humor Davos was so adept at utilizing.

"How far to Dragonstone?" Jon questioned, once he had managed a few mouthfuls of stew.

"We should arrive tomorrow, but we won't be there long; simply stocking up provisions for the trip to King's Landing. At least this time we won't have to sneak in." Seaworth shook his head, clearly not thrilled about their excursion to the capital. "You best be on your feet before we get there. I'll not follow the King in the North if he can't even stand _in front of_ Cersei, let alone stand _up to_ her." Once again, Ser Davos chose humor as an approach, and Jon appreciated it. They both knew nothing was going to keep the bastard down once they reached Dragonstone, let alone for their parlay with Cersei. They sat in companionable silence as Jon managed the rest of the stew and a few bites of bread. His body didn't seem to want much more at that moment.

The Onion Knight retreated with the leftovers, leaving Jon to rest, although neither of them actually expected him to sit idly by. Once again alone with his thoughts, Jon imagined Winterfell, and how the Northern Lords would take his pledge of fealty to Daenerys. From his understanding, Sansa was doing well managing the North, but he knew he would face seven hells upon his return. Not only had he allied with a Targaryen, but he was actively seeking out an audience with Cersei Lannister. While Jon felt conviction in his actions, he couldn't help but remember what happened to him the last time he did what was right, against the wishes of his followers. This news had to be handled carefully.

He was pulled from his strategizing by a knock on the door.

"Come in." Jon called, and was wondering which of his comrades had been sent to check on him, when a shock of white-blonde hair stepped into the room. Jon bowed his head respectfully as Daenerys entered, wearing a gown of black rather than the white he had seen her in last. It was plain to see-she was in mourning. Her grief was evident from her expression to her posture, and what had once been a smoldering, raging flame had dulled to the flicker of a candle. It was the look of a mother who had lost her child.

"Your grace." He greeted her respectfully, as she stood at the end of the bed. Her expression softened, suddenly unguarded, honored by his greeting.

"You can call me Daenerys, if you like. No one else does, anymore." She admitted, and seemed mildly troubled by the fact. "It's always, "Your Grace," or "My Queen."

Jon chuckled, and Dany found that she couldn't help but smile at the sound. "Isn't that the idea?"

Seeing the irony of her comment, she forced a laugh. "I suppose. But when it's all I ever hear, I start to feel less like a person, and more like a statue." She reminisced, and he nodded his understanding. He recalled the way he felt being called "bastard," instead of his name. She seemed lost in thought for a moment, but pulling herself from her reverie, she ran her gaze over him. "I heard you were awake, and I wanted to see how you were recovering." The concern in her tone made his heartbeat quicken, and he suddenly became very aware that his modesty was being maintained by a blanket of furs, and nothing more. For whatever reason, the thought didn't bother him.

"That's very kind of you." He met her eyes, and couldn't help but try to lighten the air. "I'll be back on my feet soon, more likely due to boredom than necessity."

Her lips lifted at his attempt at humor, and she opened her mouth as if to say something, but was struck silent as her gaze was drawn the multitude of scars across his chest. The weight of her recent discovery hung in the air.

"I know, they're not pleasant to look at." He commented, once he noticed where her attention had been diverted to. The queen shook her head, flushing at the embarrassment of being caught staring.

"I apologize. That was quite rude of me." He stayed silent, guessing she had more to say, and simply waited for her to continue. When she finally met his eyes, they held sorrow and confusion. "Not a figure of speech then." Her words were a quiet statement, not a question, and he could do nothing but shake his head.

She nodded in response, a torrent of thoughts and emotions flashing through her, and almost unconsciously, she found herself sitting down at his bedside. "How did you survive those?"

He suspected she knew the answer, but felt obliged to confirm it. "I didn't." He said simply.

For one of the few times in her life, the dragon queen was speechless. Dany raised her hand, as if in a trance, to touch the mark across his heart, but hesitated. This was a line they had yet to cross, and she felt almost ashamed by her desire to feel the blemish left by such a betrayal. Jon didn't shy away, though, and looked as though he wanted her to touch him. He pushed himself up from his leaning position, and boldly met her eyes, giving her permission, if that's what she wanted. Ever so gently, her fingers touched the curved scar, and her breath caught, not only at the reality in front of her, but at the pure intimacy of her actions. His heartbeat quickened at her touch, and she was grateful he couldn't feel her own heart racing.

Their gaze held, and he answered the unspoken question burning in the depths of her eyes. _How?_ "When I was Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," he began, "I went north to the Wildling encampment at Hardhome, and convinced as many as I could to come south of the wall. I promised protection so long as they agreed to stand with me when the time came. Some of the brothers didn't agree with my actions. They thought I was a traitor for fostering the enemy we'd dedicated our lives to fighting...so they punished me accordingly." Her fingers still traced the gash on his chest, and he recalled the knife that Olly put there. Daenerys was enraptured, simultaneously horrified and stricken by his account. "There was a red priestess at Castle Black," Jon continued. "She had served Stannis Baratheon, and I don't know how or why, but she brought me back."

Jon could see the weight of his words sink into Daenerys as she pulled her hand away. "I did not abandon my post; I am no traitor." He stated, his core of loyalty evident in his tone. "I died for the Watch, but somehow I've been given a second chance."

"Do you fear death?" She questioned, her voice barely above a whisper, almost quivering. There was no doubt that she believed him, having seen with her own eyes.

"I don't know." Jon answered, honestly. "Since the moment I woke, I've become aware of my own breath, my own heartbeat; knowing they could stop at any moment." As he had before, his hand reached for hers, and this time she didn't pull away. "I've been fighting for so long, and I know how easy it would be to simply let go. But, I know I can't. Death is the enemy, and we have to fight it." His words hung in the air, and as he gazed at the woman in front of him, words from another came to his mind. He couldn't help but smile at the memory.

"Someone once told me, that if we die, we die. But first, we'll live." It wasn't lost on Daenerys that these words came from someone deeply important to him. It was evident in the tone of his voice, the expression on his face. An unexpected feeling of jealousy flared up in her, but she tamped it down, trying not to let it show on her face.

"Who was she?" She asked simply, knowing by the way he spoke that it was a woman.

Jon guessed at her feelings from the look in her eyes. The dragon queen could not conceal any fire that burned within her. "A wildling."

"And you loved her." Despite her jealousy at this faceless woman, Dany couldn't help but feel respect for her. Any woman worthy of the King in the North must have been quite impressive, herself. The queen's heart sank slightly as Jon nodded.

"But, I chose my duty. Men of the Night's Watch are bound to the wall, and I took a vow to protect it." He offered, hoping Daenerys might understand the implications of his declaration.

"What happened to her?" Dany asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. He noticed she had yet to remove her hand from his.

"She died in my arms." He told her, after a moment's hesitation. Dany's mind raced back to the memory of her husband passing before her, and unbidden, a tear slipped down her cheek. She would barely have noticed it at all had it not been for the surprisingly gentle finger that wiped it away. "Daenerys." He whispered her name like a prayer, and for the first time, she let the feelings she had for him wash over her like the waves of the ocean they sailed.

The queen had spent so long denying her attraction to him, since what she felt for him was so different than anything she had felt for another man. She loved her husband, there was no doubt about it; but she also acknowledged that the love she felt for Khal Drogo was more of, as she once spoke of the slaves she freed, a prisoner learning to love their chains. She and Drogo cared for each other in a way, but not as equals, and she could never have come this far if she had simply remained his Khaleesi. Dany felt physical attraction to D'arrio, and friendly affection for Jorah, but never had she felt such a pull, such an undeniable, ardent admiration for someone. Jon Snow acknowledged her as his equal, even his superior, willing to set aside his pride and swear to her, because he believed in her. And yet, he confronted her, pushed her to do the best she could, and prove that she was worthy. No one had ever cared for her enough to challenge her that way, and no one had ever looked at her the way he was at that moment.

Daenerys found herself leaning into his palm, and reveling in the way his hand caressed her, brushed her tears, and stroked her cheek. Her eyes slipped shut, and she simply welcomed his touch, her skin alight everywhere he went. Jon whispered her name again, and she opened her eyes to find him much closer than he had been before. His breath fanned her face, and she noticed his breathing was as erratic as her own. Her gaze matched his, and she was struck with the realization that the King in the North, for all his daring, strength, and innate power, was as apprehensive as she was. Jon Snow was asking for her permission, and she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would respect her wishes if she refused. She didn't.

Leaning in, Daenerys allowed their lips to touch every so lightly; cautious and tentative. She might have imagined what his kiss would be like, but nothing could have prepared her for the feeling of it. Where Drogo was forceful, Jon was tender. Where D'arrio was reckless, Jon was sensual. His hands, brutal and unyielding with a sword, held her gently, and his lips moved with a reverence, cherishing her without submitting to her. Daenerys found herself wrapped up in him, her hands wandering up his chest, barely registering the marks that scarred him, and winding into the curls of his hair. The hand that previously held hers now gripped her waist, desperate to have her closer. He begged access to her mouth, and his tongue attacked her with the most languid of thrusts. Her ears barely registered the noises he was eliciting from her, and when they finally came up for air, both were breathing heavily.

Jon touched his forehead to hers, not letting her move an inch, but rather relishing the feeling of her body heat and the memory of her lips on his. They stayed like this for several long moments, just taking comfort in each other's presence. Jon could feel his desire for her wreaking havoc on his body, but also knew he was in no condition to be acting on it. So he simply held onto her, basking in one of the few moments of relief he'd felt since waking up at Castle Black.

Daenerys seemed equally as content to sit there with him. He knew only the barest outline of what her life had been like before sailing to Westeros. Yet, he understood it had been plagued, and the recent loss of her dragon had been perhaps the biggest blow of all. Despite the heat of the moment, Jon could practically feel her grief radiating off of her in waves, and was glad to simply hold her, sharing her pain, and offering solace in the only way he was capable.

He leaned back against the head of the bed, and Dany came with him, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm around her. Neither said a word, as there was little they could say. He pressed kisses to her hair, and she held his hand as if it were a lifeline. In that little cabin, on a ship bound for chaos, they found a rare moment of peace in their shared vulnerability, and each was loathe to break the fleeting stillness.

Unfortunately, nothing was made to last, and a knock at the door pulled them from each other.

"Just a moment." Jon called, delaying their interruption. Dany sat up, straightened her dress, and was about to stand when Jon reached for her. She pressed her hand to his cheek, affection in her eyes. She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, and then pulled away, both of them straightening their appearances before she opened the door.

"Oh, Your Grace. I didn't realize you were here." A male voice floated from outside of the room, and Daenerys handled the exchange with poise.

"It's quite alright. I imagine you want to make sure he's still alive, just as I did." Dany met Jon's gaze once more before making her exit. "I'll leave you to it." She swept out the door, and moments later, Gendry and Tormund lumbered into the room. While the Baratheon bastard looked vaguely confused, Tormund, even with his face black and blue, had an unmistakable, shit-eating grin on his face.

"So, I gather not every part of your body was frozen in that lake." The wildling teased, and Jon didn't even bother feeling embarrassed. He wouldn't acknowledge the fact that anything had happened out of respect for Daenerys, but having just survived the Night King once more, Jon didn't have it in him to deny it either, and let himself enjoy their small victory with his companions. Sadly, it wouldn't last long, as they were very literally on their way to the lion's den.

 **Please rate and review, but don't be too harsh! I hope you enjoyed, and thankfully we'll have the season finale, soon enough! Valar Morghulis.**


	2. Author's Note and More to Come

Author's Note…

Hey Everybody! Firstly, I want to say thank you for the incredible response to this story. I wrote this in a moment of inspiration during season 7, but at the time, didn't want to continue until the final season had aired. I had faith in the writers to deliver, which unfortunately proved to be unjustified. Having now watched the series in it's entirety, I'm among those who felt betrayed by David Benioff and DB Weiss, who managed to destroy the legacy that is Game of Thrones in the space of just a few episodes.

It's going to take me a little while to move past the finale, but I've decided that I'm going to continue writing these characters until I've given them an ending I'm satisfied with. I'm going to leave this story up as a "One-Shot," but will likely include it in the larger narrative I want to start posting. It will take a while because I want to do these characters justice. So, if you're interested in reading my take on this incredible world that deserved more, keep an eye on my account for what's to come.

I also want to say that while I hold D&D personally responsible for the bad writing in the final seasons, I want to give all the credit in the world to everyone else who poured their souls into this show. The actors, editors, production teams, stunt coordinators, extras, craft services, and musicians who spent years of their lives giving us an experience to remember. No matter how any of us feel about the ending, they put their blood sweat and tears into that show, so for that, I'm grateful

I recognize that everyone has their own version of how they want things to end, and it's impossible to please everyone. I want to disclaimer that what I publish is simply my version. I hope you enjoy it, and I look forward to reading your responses. Thank you for all the love and support.


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